


Inherited Rights

by Gildaurel



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildaurel/pseuds/Gildaurel
Summary: This is a sequel to my last work, Apologies, but takes place two months later. Essentially, a noble begins to insult Vanyel's father with indirect references to his son's preferences, and Vanyel gets wind of it.





	Inherited Rights

It started with a rumor. Of course, Heraldic rumors weren’t exactly such; no Chosen could truly lie to serve his own prurient curiosity or interests. And several prominent Heralds had intimated to Vanyel that Lord Rendan had been harassing his father at the minor council meetings. Never in Vanyel’s presence; never in Randale’s. But when the lord holders would gather to discuss internal matters pertinent only to them—the current price of sheep, say—Rendan, apparently, was undermining whatever his father said.

Vanyel hadn’t been sure quite what to do or say, until he missed a major meeting for the first time. He’d been casting and Mindspeaking all day in response to a possible alert from the border, and had begged off his duties, the reaction headache nailing spikes into his mind. When Tantras came to him afterwards, his face was grim.

“Vanyel.” His hand fell tiredly from the door he’d been about to knock on and he radiated distress. “Sorry to disturb you.”      

“Please,” he beckoned him in. “I’m much better, really. I just couldn’t stand all the bickering tonight.” _And I knew the right of inheritance would come up, and I prefer not to make father entirely uncomfortable. He supports Randi on this—that both father and son should agree for abdication to occur—but I know he didn’t want to speak about why._

“Still. You need rest.” Tantras shut the door carefully behind him and sat in one of Vanyel’s armchairs, looking around the room. “Stefen’s away tonight?”

“I figured I wouldn’t be good company for a few candlemarks.” The headache still throbbed dimly behind his temples. “He’s having dinner with friends, but he’ll be back later.”

Tantras nodded and sighed heavily. _He tends to Mindspeak anything difficult, but he knows my channels are aching._ “What is it, Tran? You’re in a state.”

“It’s not pleasant.”

“Is Council usually?” Vanyel raised an eyebrow, and Tantras returned half a smile.

“Lord Rendan’s at it again.” Looking away from Vanyel’s eyes, Tantras went on. “He… said some very unfortunate things to your father, when we spoke about the inheritance law. I thought you should know.”

“What, exactly?” Vanyel felt sure his voice could have cut ice. “That’s half the reason I wasn’t there.”

“I know, and I can’t think whether it would have been worse or better if you had been.” Vanyel looked at him expectantly, and he went on with another sigh. “He said Withen, of all people, should know why he wanted the law changed to allow a father to disinherit without consent. When Withen just looked at him blankly—no offense, Van, but Rendan’s a step ahead of him—he went on about all types of problems a lord holder could run into. He started vaguely—said you could have a witless child, or one who’s awfully odd, or cruel—then he ended with, and I quote, ‘or, gods forbid, a pervert who’d bring home a bastard whoreson instead of a wife.”

“He said that?” Cold lanced his veins, and it took him a moment to realize it was rage. “Gods, and Brandon isn’t even _shaych_ , he’s just bookish. Not that it matters.”

“You know his son?”

Trying to ignore his biting, consuming anger, Vanyel caught his slipping thoughts. “I knew Rendan’s daughter years ago, before…before, when I first came to court. Brandon’s younger sister, Tashi. That’s why Rendan hates me so much; he thinks I led her on.” He shook his head. “She wound up marrying some violent fool two stations beneath her, and he’s still furious.”

“Withen was livid, just so you know. He made to get up from the Council table, and I had to calm him down.”

“He shouldn’t have to fight my battles.” _I will fight them._ “Did Rendan apologize?”

“Not sincerely, though Withen wasn’t the only one upset by his comments. You’ve more support than you know, at least among those who knew what he was speaking of. Anyways. All Rendan did was mutter something about how at least no one had the audacity to _flaunt_ it, before—“

“Stefen again.”

“The name might have come up. Not yours, of course.” Tantras worried at his lower lip. “It was a bit of a mess. He was very, very angry that the measure wasn’t going to pass the way he wanted it, and since you weren’t there to stare him down…well. He said some things he will surely regret.”

“He will regret them.” Tantras looked up at his tone, eyes wide at the harshness. “Does he think that my absence means I won’t know? That I won’t know he insulted my father and my _lifebonded_?” _And me, though I care least about that._ The headache stabbed at him again. “I’ll deal with it at evening Council. You’ll back me?”

“Always.” Tantras stood and clasped his hands. “I trust you.”

“Thank you.” Vanyel dredged a smile up. “That means more to me than you know.”

*** 

Stefen tuned his instrument in the corner of the room, trying to ignore the backbiting chatter between the Councilors. Apparently there was a vote today, which meant Randale would be joining them eventually, which in turn meant that he was here. With how badly off the king was these days, there was no way he’d arrive until the absolute last minute, so he could be tuning for five minutes or a candlemark. _Depends on how long the Councilors muck about with each other. Gods, I never thought I’d be spending my days listening to rich nobles wrangle about whether they can toss off their eldest son._ Although, to be fair, he was more interested in this law than most, because— _Van. Van cares about it, and I care, because maybe it could have spared him and his father a bit of anguish._

That they hadn’t reconciled until _two months ago_ still left Stefen stunned. It was clear to him, at least, that both parties must have wanted to for years. _They couldn’t find the right words or moment, I suppose. And Vanyel never thought he could accept him as such—_ in some ways, it seemed to Stefen that his lover had only just started fully accepting himself. _He truly finds all the ways to torment and doubt himself._ He shook his head at the absurdity. _And the rest of us try for a mere sliver of the goodness he has._

He looked about the chamber, spying Lord Withen on one side of the table, head bent in conversation, but no Vanyel. _I haven’t seen him all day, and he was so odd last night._

Vanyel had been pacing furiously around the room last night when Stefen had slipped in halfway to drunk—an unusual state for him, but one Medren tended to bring out—and Van hadn’t offered much of an explanation. _He just tossed his clothes to the floor and let me fuck him furiously into the mattress. I suppose that’s one way of coping with stress._ One he wasn’t opposed to, but still. _I haven’t seen him at all today either._

The Councilors were gathering their papers and sitting up in their seats, now; Tantras, Stefen noted, had just arrived, his face impassive. A lord dressed in burgundy, stuffed with hot air and muscle run a bit to fat— _Rendan, that’s his name—_ looked at him. “I thought Herald Vanyel was attending? That he wanted this vote?”

“Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron will be attending,” Tantras replied flatly, folding his hands on the table. “If you recall, he has duties as first mage that often retain him.”

Rendan flushed slightly and began to shuffle his papers. A sound at the far end of the room— _that’s the door to the King’s chambers—_ and the Councilors turned. In swept the most imposing version of Vanyel Stefen had ever seen in his short life.

Body rigid, silver-streaked hair tied back, and draped in formal Whites without a crease in them, Vanyel strode into the room, a mask of pure coldness on his face. “Good evening, Councilors,” he stated, inclining his head slightly. His voice rang through the high walls of the chamber, authority incarnate.

 He glanced toward the page tending the fading fire. “Run along, young one.” Shooting a confused look toward no one in particular, the page obeyed, the door swaying shut behind him.

Vanyel smiled without any warmth at the Councilors. “It’s a bit cold, no? And the kindling isn't taking.” He waved his hand and the fire sprang into rich light. Torches set into the rafters joined it, spouting amber light down the walls, and no small number gasped. Withen was looking at Vanyel as though he were a stranger, utterly flabbergasted, his jaw slack.

 _Havens, he’s putting on a show—I’ve never seen him do this._ It seemed most of the Councilors hadn’t either, their eyes wide. “I understand we’re reviewing delicate documents tonight. The inheritance law, no?”

Rendan recovered first. _He would, the audacious shit._ “We are. Per your request.”

Vanyel turned to him, that not-smile widening. “Good.” His hand curved slightly again, and white globes of light popped up along the table. “Best we can see them, then.”

Sliding gracefully into his chair, Vanyel set his own set of documents onto the table. “I must offer my sincerest apologies for missing yesterday’s session. I was, as you likely know, exhausted from Mindspeaking our Heralds on the Karsite border.”

The second round of shocked exclamations indicated that the Councilors, for the most part, did not actually know that Vanyel Mindspoke that far.

“But I was fortunate enough to have Herald Tantras come to fill me in on some of the more… pertinent comments.” Here, he looked at Rendan again, whose mouth was working silently. “And I was also fortunate enough to have the time to research _all_ the instances of desired abdication, the reasons behind them, and the end result.”

Tantras was eyeing Vanyel with barely repressed amusement. Stefen was sure no one else could tell; he was controlling his face awfully well, but he knew Tran better than most now. “All of them, Herald Vanyel?”

“Indeed, Herald Tantras.” He spread his papers on the table. “Instances of a halfwit child, a violent heir, and even—“ He paused dramatically. “Havens forfend, a pervert.”

Stefen’s hand fell from his instrument. _Holy gods, what happened yesterday? Did somebody dare—who even_ knows _that Van’s_ shaych _? And is he going to admit it—here—_

Withen’s face was slightly colored, his eyes turned toward the table, and Stefen couldn’t tell if it was from pride or embarrassment, but he couldn’t quite care. _Oh, no. This is too good. I hope Vanyel shoves the law up Rendan’s ass._

“So. I found that in the case of a halfwit child, there’s already a provision in the existing draft that the current Lord holder can force abdication. In the case of an overly cruel or violent heir, I’ve drafted a provision based on the two past complaints that came before the court—one in 718, and one in 745. In both cases, the heir had committed an act that essentially qualified as a crime; what I’ve drafted provides for an early probation based on documented acts, followed by immediate disinheritance for proven cruelty to man or animal.” He passed a sheaf of papers around the room, which the Councilors looked over, nodding to themselves.

When the papers returned to him, he set them aside. “Did anybody want to add anything to that provision? King Randale has already seen it as is.”

Lord Kastor coughed quietly. “No, milord Vanyel. It looks quite thorough as is.”

Nobody else ventured a comment. “Well. In that case, I thought I’d address the last possible complication—and the one Lord Rendan seemed to find the most troubling? Isn’t that so?”

A stronger man than Rendan would have bowed under that pitiless silver gaze. _Is it odd that I’m so goddamned turned on right now?_

With no reply forthcoming, Vanyel stood. “Lord Rendan feared that an unlucky Lord holder might find himself with a ‘pervert’ for an heir. I tried, my lords, I really did try to comprehend why this might be such a problematic complication—other than, of course, the obvious need to produce an heir. I wrote up another provision for that—I’ll pass it around shortly—in which the right to inheritance falls to a mutually agreed upon niece, nephew, or younger sibling, should the eldest pass away in an untimely manner. If there’s no possible relative—well. Female and male nobles have, on not so infrequent occasion, been barren since time untold, and an heir has always been determined with limited conflict. Furthermore, all this _still_ falls under the premise that both parties haven’t already agreed to a mutual abdication, as the new law provides for.”

His mask was unslipping, his tone even. “So I could only imagine that you thought there was something intrinsically wrong with those you called “perverse;” that they were somehow incapable of making good decisions as a lord holder—as a servant of the realm.” Stefen could feel anxiety thrumming across their bond now, but Vanyel remained outwardly calm. “I take issue with that on several levels. First and foremost, the word means a corruption or distortion of what was originally intended. I do not believe that those who are _shaych_ are corrupted or distorted in any way. If they were, you would have to question the very foundation of our nation, the Companion’s Choice.”

“What—what do you mean, milord? There are _shaych_ Heralds?” That was Lord Brayson, a minor lord from the riverlands, who clearly was far, far upwind of the rumor mill.

“I truly, truly do not like to speak of personal matters in Council, but I feel it’s pertinent.” The anxiety spiked, sending Stefen’s hands skittering over his strings. “Since I am _shaych_ , and I was Chosen, I wonder if Lord Rendan questions my own ability to serve the realm as first herald-mage, guardian of the web, and head of the Karsite border guard.” He arched an eyebrow and stared straight at Rendan, ignoring the soft gasps slipping through the room. “Well, milord? Do you?”

Withen’s hands, Stefen noted, were clutching the table so hard they were white. But the look on his face—oh, he hoped Van had seen it. _He just realized his son is the most important man in the kingdom. And probably the only one capable of writing two full amendments to a law in an evening._

Lord Rendan spluttered, his face beet red. “I—no—I never said—“

“Good, then.” Vanyel handed a last set of papers to Tantras, who skimmed through them before handing them to his neighbor. “Herald Tantras, do you think we can vote?”

“The amendments look quite well written to me.” His voice was warm, and the look in his eyes admiring. “I will get the King. Bard Stefen?”

 _That’s my cue._ He had almost entirely forgotten why he was so blessed as to witness this exchange. Fingers finding the notes with ease, mind slipping into trance, he sent the strongest surge of love and respect across the bond that he could manage. _Ashke, you never cease to amaze me._      


End file.
